Stake and Empathy
by Shieldage
Summary: For Halloween, Ethan talks Buffy out of focusing on the past and into a tighter-fitting outfit.
1. Prologue: 1989-1994

BtVS by Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

* * *

**Prologue: 1989-1994**

_Following a moment where things went wrong, Angel spent '74-'96 on the streets of New York. For several of those years, he had a 'friend' whom he never really had the chance to thank._

##

Angel was a contradiction in terms. A vampire with a soul. He'd been weak as a human... _Liam_... Not physically, but in several other places that counted. His body had grown even stronger with the essence of the demon flowing through him but, when his soul was forcibly returned, he'd tried hard to remain with his old crowd, the family he'd _made_, but he'd given that up and begun the long hard crawl towards righteousness and redemption.

Angel would always keep in mind his acts as a monster, not that he could forget. He kept in mind his life as a human, so he wouldn't make the same mistakes. He held close to him the great times he'd had across the world... The concerts. The people.

Then, starting in 1974, he locked himself in a self-imposed hell, hating himself for not saving a man in New York. He'd tried to, but... When the guy's life had slipped away, he'd locked the door and drank... and drank...

The gunshot wound had been too serious, the blood would have gone to waste... It was there.

Drinking it was a moment of weakness he understood. Somewhat. What really haunted him, what drove him to live twenty-two years as a broken-down, homeless bum, was that the smell of the blood _might_ just have slowed his steps enough...

Might have.

You move on, when you have a purpose.

When you don't...

##

Ethan Rayne, chaos mage, arrived in New York in 1989. After all the trouble he'd caused in Britain, he'd decided to self-exile for at least five years to let things calm down. His face had become known in all the dark corners of London and there are certain tricks you can't pull, at least not as easily, if the mark is on to you. Besides, the entire mess with the summoning of Eyghon and the death of one of the blokes he ran with was still at the back of his mind. If the demon ever reared its head again, it would probably start at the place it'd last been summoned and begin its killing with the _closest_ bearers of its mark. At the very least Ethan was going to make sure that he'd always have a head start.

The new wave of cyberpunk had tickled his fancy, so he was going to breed hybrid technological and magical creations and let them loose on his new city, under careful study and supervision of course. Every step leads groundwork for the next. Diversify as much as possible so you're never left with a dull moment or without an escape route, but make sure that _all_ your fall-back plans are in working order.

Choosing a large storefront with a secure basement, as well as putting on a completely stead and straight face with the local crowd of technopagans for plausible deniability, he opened up one of the ubiquitous appliance sales and repair places and set to work.

##

Angel smelled bad. He only knew it was 1989 from the old newspaper stuck to a wall.

He'd stopped keeping track of months.

The rat stank... Killing it had been an act of mercy.

Angel hadn't been up to chasing the faster ones. Not for a while.

The crawlspace he'd made his home was wide, but he couldn't stand up properly. He hadn't chosen it for the homey qualities, just the rodent population. One wall had a broken grating that let in some amounts of light. He slept too far away for the sun to do any particular damage. Once, when the rain outside was bad enough and the wind had blown just right, he'd woken up surrounded by a very thin layer of water.

Everything around him stank and not only on the physical plane. The place had been drenched for _years_ in the vampire's emotional funk.

It was his home, his squat, and, up until that point, Angel had chased away anyone, human or demon, who had tried to share the space with him.

Having taken the edge off his hunger, he curled up in a dank corner and fell asleep.

He woke up in the darkness, staring into the flickering blue of a television screen.

He lost himself. his body was gone.

the world was gone. there was no border to the picture.

he was eyes and ears only.

##

Two days later, Angel stood up. He knew how much time had passed only from the amount of news that had passed through his wide, staring eyes and into his brain.

He was alone in the room.

The TV was gone.

That was good, because, after all, he _didn't_ own one...

He was so hungry, he left his shelter to eat. Bathed in the moonlight and night air, he thought about running across town, finding another place to live, never coming back...

After he was sated, or at least less hungry, he crawled back into the place where he'd been sleeping for so long.

He spotted a television huddled in a dark corner.

As he approached it, it switched on.

##

two hours later, he came back to himself.

there were fine tubes buried in the veins of his arms. they connected to the television.

he wasn't sure how deep the tubes went but, now that he was aware of them, they itched.

he must have moved slightly because the screen flickered and-

He was alone in the room.

##

Angel rubbed his arms and tried to figure out what had been going on.

_It must have fed off of me, _he decided. _distracting me with images, then.._

_When I'd come back to myself, it had knocked me out just long enough to escape._

He didn't try to track it then.

The next night, after it had fed and left, he tried to pick up its trail.

He had no luck following it. Then or ever. It might have been said that its home base was under a glamour. It might have been said that Angel wasn't trying too hard.

It wasn't like he was doing anything else with his life and... He didn't hold a grudge against the thing for trying to live.

##

Once things had become stable enough that Ethan Rayne was sure that the experiments that weren't allowed to run freely wouldn't stage a jailbreak while he was gone, he decided to track down some of his more successful pieces. Engaging a temporary amulet to alter his scent, he followed the infused television to a run-down block of buildings. After waiting as long as he felt was needed, he crept forward and lead down to see exactly what his creation did in the wild.

The process was fascinating, too much in fact. He found himself lost for a solid ten minutes, even without the cables intertwining with him. If an alert vampire had wandered by then, it could easily have been the end of Ethan Rayne. The commercial break gave him an opportunity to break free and sneak away.

Several days later he'd returned with protective shades to investigate exactly why that vampire had been picked out of the rest of the local population. Why the television was returning over and over again, when the next one he'd released rarely ever met up with the same creature twice. It took Ethan a couple visits and an ear turned to the underground to pinpoint exactly who and what 'Angelus' was, the vampire being so out of fighting shape, but the resemblance to the Watcher diaries Rupert Giles had passed around years before was unmistakeable.

Back in the office, between customers, Ethan put his feet up and chuckled darkly. His new life was shaping up nicely.

##

The television thing that had chosen Angel had a few favorite shows to play for him. It would arrive in Angel's room at regular times, most often during weeknights and, for about a year or so, Saturday mornings.

Angel wasn't sure if the thing was playing shows that it wanted to watch, or images that it felt he should see as some twisted sort of therapy. He guessed that the initial two-day stint had been to gauge his reactions to certain stimuli. Later sessions rarely lasted two hours or more.

Angel wasn't in a position to ask.

It was always there and... gone.

He never did see it move.

##

During a stormy night in the Summer of 1994, Angel woke up at a particularly vicious crack of thunder to see...

there were two televisions in the room. the new one had wood stained a dark purple.

tubes from both had wormed their way up angel's hands, into his arms, under his skin and...

another sound from the torrent outside and-

angel woke up. his television was there. The tubes were still embedded in his arms.

The other television thing was gone.

Angel was awake... and, this time, he was going to have to pull out the lines himself. He did so, painfully, surprised at the length of the brown hollow cord. He still wasn't sure exactly _what_ they'd been feeding off of.

He looked up and... touched the wood of the television set, feeling down its face to the first crack. The front was completely shattered. Scorchmarks were everywhere. The back was dented, but intact.

It was daylight outside, a calm, storm-free daylight, and Angel had no idea how long he'd been out.

##

When Ethan was locking up his shop that evening, after sundown, he was grabbed from behind and lifted off his feet. When the chaos mage was spun around and shoved up against the wall to see his attacker's face, he silently cursed exactly how well he'd done at advertising the legitimate side of his business.

Angel, not having connected Ethan to the television thing, was, with full vamp-face, threatening its progenitor into checking out its blasted remains, which the vampire had hidden a short distance away.

Ethan, pleading ignorance, played the part of someone who wanted to help but was too simpering and useless to accomplish anything. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he could have done anything besides repairing the cabinet and infusing it with a completely separate mix. The original being was lost beyond any means of his to reach.

After a bit, Angel turned to leave Ethan alone... Alive and whimpering.

While Ethan kept the sound effects going, once Angel had turned away the mage twisted his face into a vicious snarl and stabbed his hands out in a quick series of gestures directed towards the vampire's back. Ethan had sensed what effect the last visit had inflicted upon Angel and, in return for the rough treatment, he had decided to do his best to multiply it.

##

Angel dragged his burden from store to store, from place to place, only managing to confirm one thing:

Whatever force had animated the box had died with it.

Upon hearing that, he retreated to the shadows and... Began to cry.

He hung on to the box for a week, just in case, then buried it in Central Park.

After having done that, he felt better. Better than he had in years.

The best he had felt since that night of blood and regret.

That night, as he hunted, as he trashed a particularly huge nest, his mind wandered.. free.

_I could leave town,_ he thought._ Go up to the woods, the far north._

_Far from the spread of man. Where I could chase deer, where I could run, where I could be free._

_I could set snares for healthy rabbits. I couldn't train a hawk, but..._

_The blood would be fresh, wholesome and pure. Up there, alone, I could be a part of nature... Red in tooth and claw and root._

_I'd be free, a true predator, with no chance of harming a human so I could, finally, _

forget _what it was like to be one_

Angel frowned, then bent downward, grabbing a rat that had tried to run between his legs, to safety...

He raised the rodent, looked it in the eyes, then snapped its neck and drank...

##

A month later Angel gave birth to five of the darn TV-things. That was painful.


	2. Confusion

BtVS by Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Star Trek:TNG by Roddenberry and Paramount.

References for Season Two's Halloween drawn from _BuffyWorld dot com _

* * *

It was October 1997 in Sunnydale, a few days before Halloween. Safe in the back of his rented costume shop, Ethan Rayne closed the Pratchett book he had been reading as he frowned to himself.

He walked over to the selection of supplies he'd gone through in setting up his shop and withdrew a long section of cord. He glanced once over his shoulder, then looked forward and closed his eyes.

Without turning around, he hurled the rope precisely into the angle of the corner. It struck the walls and fell promptly to the ground.

He walked over and picked it up. Every single available bit of its formerly smooth length had been twisted into knots.

His expression grew grimmer as he grabbed the ends of the cord and pulled. Not a single twist unraveled.

"Damn Hellmouth," he muttered. "I should never have come here. No matter if it is where Ripper has set up shop."

"Heh, wonder if he'd approve of _mine_?" He chortled, sweeping his arms in a dramatic gesture toward the costumes that, two days hence, would transform the wearers.

"You know, there could be outside influences around here," he frowned again, picking up a large and rather ancient looking book. "I'd better do a sweep of the area, using this 'astral projection' bit, even if I don't personally believe in it."

##

Unseen and unheard, Ethan's astral form watched a young woman attacking a vampire. From the skills evident in her staking of the creature with a signpost, she could only be Giles' current ward. The Slayer.

He wasn't the only one watching her, however... A young-smelling vamp was also video-taping her from the shadows.

Ethan grinned ethereally, this was an added bit of Chaos in the Slayer's normally ho-hum routine of staking average monsters.

He followed, in spirit, the anonymous vampire to a warehouse where, in exchange for the tape, the vampire received some cash, several small calico kittens and the opportunity to live another night.

Ethan Rayne sucked himself back into his shop, into his physical form, as he doubled over in laughter.

Those dark figures he'd seen, that had claimed that dank place as their home-

_Those were surely William and Drusilla, _Ethan thought. _Scions of Angelus... Oh, how had Giles raved on those drunken nights, telling the worst stories of Watchers and the dreary days he had escaped from. That he had so gladly returned to when the nights had grown too dark for his blood..._

Ethan chuckled darkly. "Well, the nights will soon be full of whimsy and blood, if I have anything to say about it." Standing up, he wandered over to a TV Guide and begin to flip through it. "I wonder if those two renegades from the Scourge of Europe know how far Angelus has fallen, or at least _had _when I last saw him in New York?"

"Would it be too much of a coincidence for him to have followed them to a town with a Slayer? I remember that particular magitech experiment of mine had a few favorite shows... Need to find one that's still popular, at least in reruns, that will leave a large impression." As he paged through the small book, Ethan smiled fondly, remembering the animated television that had used the vampire as a host. "Ah, yes, for a theme, this will do nicely."

* * *

The next day, Buffy Summers was unhappy that her friends were aiming low.

Despite the Slayer's plea that she wear something freeing, something sexy, something _not_ a tastefully shapeless blanket, Willow was picking out a ghost costume.

Xander was focusing on spending as little as possible. A simple purchase of a plastic gun to go with his fatigues at home and _Voila!_ Instant costume.

_Yeah,_ Buffy thought,_ I'm really going to have to learn how to spell that word... I'm impressed I can focus on a train of thought and carry on a conversation with Xander about his seeming weakness at school without- Oh! That red dress over there! Perfect for me to spring on Angel, my ancient but souled and fit vampire crush. _

It was a near exact replica of the elaborate gowns she'd seen sketched in Giles' journals. _Bye, Xander. Hello, a night as a winsome noblewoman!_

Of course she couldn't see Angel until after taking those darn kids Trick or Treating. Not that she minded the kids wanting to go, just that she'd been forced into it.

But the dress.

_Oh, Xander. Talking. Whoops._ "I'm sorry, it's just… look at this."

"It's amazing," said Willow.

"Too bulky," said Xander. "I prefer my women in spandex."

She spotted a tall man approaching from the back of the store, probably the 'Ethan' mentioned in the large sign out front.

When he reached her, he whisked the dress from the rack and held it in front of a mirror, in front of her.

He purred in an English accent that she was a princess and that it truly matched her.

Buffy frowned, protesting that it was probably too expensive.

"Well, there's money spent on things for you," he said, smiling. "And there's money spent on gifts for others."

"Tell me," he grinned, motioning her forward, away from her friends.

She looked around a bit, then, confident she could handcuff him with a coat-hanger if she absolutely had to, followed him a few steps further into the rows of costumes.

"Tell me," he repeated. "I'm curious about your choice of dress."

"Well, there's this guy," she answered, despite herself. "He, well, at least he used to be into women who looked like that. A long phase of period pieces. I'm just trying to get him to think of me in the same way he did them."

"Well my dear," Ethan spun, draping the dress on the nearest hook. "There's giving a boy what he wanted, and there's giving him something to look forward to..."

"... You don't want to look to elegantly restrained, bodice pulsing lust to get into a man's heart. No, you go for," he broke off and lowered his voice. "Empathy."

* * *

Buffy held the long purple suit in front of herself, at home in her bedroom. The house would be empty tonight, Halloween.

Her mother was winding her way somewhere and Buffy was alone in her house, except for Willow, who was changing in the bathroom.

Buffy frowned. Something about the British guy was nagging at her. Maybe she should...

Grabbing a dark wig she held it in front of the mirror with one hand, the skin-tight suit in the other, then put them both on the bed and went downstairs.

She walked around for a bit, wondering if she should phone Giles about his fellow expatriate, but she chuckled, passing it off as Xena-phobia. Xeni? Nah...

Buffy shook her head again as she climbed the stairs, only to find that Willow had wandered into her vacant bedroom and was... hot.

Buffy could say that in a purely truthful, non-sexual way.

Yes, the red-headed formally geekish, currently quiet, expert hacker was dressed in a stunning leather outfit. Extra thigh showing, great boots, hair pulled back her face gleaming with the effort of the makeup applied to it.

None of which was any excuse for Willow to be attempting high kicks and waving around a very sharp stake.

"Hey," Buffy said happily, breaking Willow's concentration and causing her to fumble the weapon.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Buffy stated, picking up the piece of pointed wood as it rolled across the ground. "You looked like you were having fun. Hey, I'm impressed. That halter-top fits you like a glove. And a purely straight: 'Rowr'."

Willow blushed and grabbed the ghost shroud from where she'd draped it on the bed. "You know," she said. "I'm not too happy with showing all this skin and the ghost costume might be kinda lonely if I left it here all alone..."

"Hey, don't worry," Buffy said as she walked a few steps closer. "It will be okay and, you know what? You will be too."

After they exchanged a few more words, Buffy left the room with her costume. She'd decided to change in the bathroom, so she could give Willow some space and time to practice her skills.

##

Willow grinned a fierce grin and twirled the stake around in her fingers before jamming it into one of her straps. She spun, smiling.

And whispered... "The Slayer."

Then her nerve broke and she threw the ill-fitting shroud back over her tight leather ensemble.

Yet, under it, she kept the stake.

Sometimes a little change like that is enough.

##

When the doorbell rang, Buffy was there to answer it.

She peered around the edge and watched Xander perform a short salute.

"Private Harris reporting for—" he broke off as she stepped into his field of view.

He not only stopped talking, but practically drooled over her curves.

"There is a God..." he murmured.

"Yes and he gave guys like you eyelids. Blink more often."

"Oh," he said, coming back to himself. "There's just the entire added geek factor- Forget I said that."

"No problem and check out-" Buffy turned, waving dramatically to where she could hear Willow standing at the top of the stairs.

"The-" Buffy began triumphantly, only to break off when she realized that Willow was hiding under the ghost-sheet. The Slayer finished weakly: "Ghost of Halloween Present?"

"Oh, cool." Xander nodded. "But I'd expect some flames licking at the bottom and a bit more of the Boca del Diablo motif."

"Well," Willow said as she descended the stairs. She caught Buffy's gaze through the eye holes and shrugged underneath the white sheet. "I, uh, didn't want to scare the little kiddies?"

"Right," Xander said, snapping a smart salute and waving his plastic gun proudly. "To the troops!"

As they walked down the street together, Buffy noticed Xander stealing glances at her chest. Something that she might not have minded that much, except for the worried look on his face.

"Oh," Xander stammered, when he realized he'd been caught. "The, uh, shinier metal communication bits are in the wrong style. You need accessories from an earlier season, when she'd actually have worn that outfit."

Doubtfully, Buffy replied: "Does it really matter that much?"

* * *

"Well, my dear," the bleached-blond Spike said, turning to Drusilla. "It's Halloween, and still no sign of your 'friend' who's supposed to change everything. Liven up the place."

"Give him time," she murmured, pressing a finger to his lips. "Give him-"

She broke off when there was a loud thump. Something heavy had just hit the warehouse door.

Spike readied a large sword he'd stolen from somewhere and, after sniffing the air, looked outside, flinching slightly at the last rays of the sun. He frowned as he bent down to grab a large package, inspecting it closely before bringing it back inside. "No incendiary devices, no taint of gears or machine oil," he explained, seeing her raised eyebrow. "And... Look at the note."

"From Angelus," Drusilla breathed, reading the scrawled letters. She frowned, peering closer. "No, it doesn't smell like father. The one who flung this package was definitely a living human."

"Yes, but... The blighter that soul turned him into might just be too sodding spineless to give us... To drop off a gift in person. Of course..." Spike frowned, then tore open the package Ethan had left for them.

The vampires gazed in wonder at the things carefully folded inside, until their eyes locked from across the table.

Yes, they knew that wondrous things might be happening outside, in the streets of Sunnydale, that night... But, they'd just found an excellent reason to stay in. They weren't about to pass it up.

Sometimes a little change is enough... And sometimes a large push in the right direction is needed.

* * *

Later that evening, Willow pulled her sheet tight against herself as a chill wind blew through town. Unbeknownst to her, it was a sign that Ethan's Latin chant had ended and his Chaos spell had begun.

Willow was thinking back, past the point where she had begun trick-or-treating with the kids, back to the high school... That short boy she'd bumped into... He was cute... If only she'd been more confident, he'd have seen her, but the sheet was in the-

She was broken from her reverie by a little boy unexpectedly snapping at the nice lady who had run out of candy. Literally snapping with teeth, then grabbing the woman by the throat.

Several other members of the little group transformed, becoming flesh and blood versions of their costumes. The normal ones, unchanged, scattered, screaming.

As a second monster attacked the one choking the old lady, breaking his hold and inadvertently saving her life, Willow sank to her knees, unable to do anything. She was too busy suffocating as her lungs gave up the ghost.

* * *

Spike and Drusilla rolled happily around in the large bed. Their play had grown so... exciting that they'd ditched the tight costumes in exchange for bare skin.

Not all of the costume pieces had met the floor, however.

She was still sporting the long, red-haired wig... He was still wearing the brown hairpiece with the daring mustache and beard.

* * *

Buffy opened her eyes and saw that she was on an unfamiliar porch. She felt a very odd kind of non-hurt. A kind of emptiness.

She sat up, abruptly, then rose to her feet and brushed herself off. She looked down and saw that...

Below her was the body of a young woman covered in an ill-fitting sheet. The white shroud covered her features, only barely showing her closed eyes. Her chest was free of movement, other than where Buffy's legs overlapped the prone form...

Buffy shivered and stepped to the side, out of the intangible body... She frowned, looking around at the chaos.

She looked down again, because, she had just come out of that body and...

The last thing she remembered clearly was finding Willow in her bedroom and... She jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Not too happy with showing all this skin and lonely ghost costume, indeed," Buffy-Ghost huffed. "She must have talked me into wearing this thing over some good looking clothes, so she could parade around, confident, in my costume. Good timing."

"Everyone's turned into their costumes... Now _I'm_ the one left walking through walls while she gets to explore Sunny-" Buffy-Ghost broke off at the sound of gunfire. "Great. I hope I'm not invisible on top of everything."

With only a second look, she charged off towards Soldier-Xander, leaving Willow's sheet-covered body laying on the ground behind her...

##

Black-haired, purple-suited, half-Betazoid Deanna Troi found herself among a swirl of chaotic emotions, mostly fear.

There was some lust, some anger. Darker emotions.

There was a miasma of darkness.

She didn't know where she was.

It looked like a reconstruction of a nightmare in late Twentieth-Century America.

A holographic projection from the sheer surreality... It had to be...

But the emotions she felt... Could only be produced by...

Reality.

This was not good.

* * *

They opened their eyes and stared at each other from across the kiss.

Commander William Riker broke it off first, rolling to his side of the bed.

He lifted up the covers. Yes. He was naked.

Yes. She was too.

Doctor Beverly Crusher said it first.

##

"Oh no," she groaned, ready to maim whatever had done this to them.

Her voice was full of resolve... With just a tinge of embarrassment... "Not again."


	3. Meetings

BtVS by Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Star Trek:TNG by Roddenberry and Paramount.

Writing this, I felt that Ethan's spell in the episode was limited in its effect partly because no-one dressed as a specific individual. This time around the spell operates on template definitions, so a strong mental image of what someone's supposed to look like overrides their normal voice and body type completely.

Willow saying 'The Slayer', before she put on the stake and the spelled sheet, meant she turned out looking and sounding _exactly_ like Ghost-Buffy... Mainly because she _knew_ who 'The Slayer' was. Her wearing the exact same costume, but saying 'Willow-The-Slayer', would have had a different result ;)

Thanks go to reviewer KevinSchultz, whose questions about Angel's Star Trek knowledge helped frame the prologue.

* * *

_First Officer's Auxiliary Log. Stardate 47990. A short time has passed since Picard's most recent experience with time travel... Alas, it seems that this is not the quiet week it had been shaping up to be. I have unexpectedly found myself in an unfamiliar and dingy place and in the arms of Doctor Beverly Crusher._

_Who is naked._

_This is not the first time she has been in a somewhat compromising situation with me. However, her affections then were directed towards the Trill symbiont I had decided to host until a more compatible body could be arranged for it._

_God, am I glad I'm not saying this out loud._

* * *

Deanna Troi steadied herself against a tree, wondering if this had anything to do with her Captain's most recent encounter with the entity known as Q.

Of course, she, herself, had no memory of that encounter as the timelines had been collapsed back into their original form. To her, that day had passed quietly, but Picard had been so affected by his experience that he had joined the weekly poker game for the first time...

Over the course of that night, he told them the details of what they had missed, an encounter extravagant even for Q.

They also talked about how much they had all changed over the years... How their lives were better since they became part of their very diverse family.

##

There came a point where only four of them had been left in the game, and extra bets were laid to make the game that much more interesting.

If the Captain's team won: Worf would show off some of the best outfits his doubles in alternate realities had to offer; while Deanna would cycle through both her old and revealing style of clothes and the various outfits she'd worn while visiting the holodeck.

If the Counselor's team won: Riker would shave his beard and Picard would don a series of military commander's uniforms, including the Scottish Brigade and the Roman Legion.

"You can see, clearly," Deanna had said. "We've come out ahead in these negotiations."

"If you win," Picard had countered. "I'll shave Will myself."

Of course, she'd lost...

##

Time had passed.

After waking up that morning, she had dressed in her tight-fitting royal purple suit, low-cut in the front with a slightly exaggerated dip in the back. Her gleaming comm badge was pinned to the thick black fabric that served the outfit as a 'collar'.

She disliked being forced out of her blue and black regulation uniform. She respected herself more in the formal Starfleet attire, even though she had avoided trying it on for years.

Fortunately the purple suit still fit and it wasn't too outlandish, even the banded Romulan uniform she'd have to wear eventually looked appropriate on a starship.

She was saving the Robin Hood outfit until last...

##

She had walked to the doors of her quarters, then through them, but...

Instead of emerging in the corridor, she had found herself standing on a darkened street.

The emotions surrounding her were overwhelming, but, with effort, she calmed herself and was able to breathe again.

"Deanna to the Bridge," she said, tapping her comm badge. "Come in."

This had no effect, nor did her attempts to raise several members of the crew. She seemed to have the only working communicator on the planet.

She heard semi-automatic gunfire down the street.

All things considered, she would rather find someone less well armed to be the first person she talked to in this strange world.

Besides, the emotions felt of self-sufficiency and a significant lack of friendliness.

Deanna stood there a second longer, until she determined that the bullets were being fired in warning shots, _successful_ warning shots.

She turned away and, hesitantly at first, then with more and more certainty, began to walk towards the nearest area that felt of order and peace.

Only blocks and blocks of chaotic suburbia lay between her and her goal...

##

"Xander!" Buffy-Ghost yelled as she spotted his fatigue-clothed back.

He abruptly turned to face her, swinging his automatic rifle.

He moved his hand off the trigger, but did not lower the M-16.

"Get that out of my face," she growled, trying to bat away the barrel of the gun.

Her hand passed right through it.

"Who are you," snarled Soldier-Xander, his instincts kicking in as he assumed a more aggressive position. "And how did you do that?

"My name's Buffy... Your name's Xander. You dressed as a soldier for Halloween, so you have that gun. I dressed as a ghost so I can do this," she stated, then walked through him.

"The hell?" He growled, spinning around to face her. "Stop doing that! I've never seen you before... Alive or dead!"

She would have said something else, but something growled behind her. Several things, actually.

"Oh, not those again!" Soldier-Xander growled, raising his weapon and letting off a few shots.

"What do you think you're doing?" Buffy-Ghost yelled.

"Warning shots, lady," Soldier-Xander sneered, shouldering his gun. "They're unarmed, albeit somewhat aggressive and ugly."

"So," he drawled, abruptly changing his mood. "Given that I'm in unfamiliar territory with... either a ghost or an inexplicably advanced technical hologram... what do you suggest we do?"

"First off," she replied. "We need to protect any civilians we find, getting them to cover. I'd like to kick butt here, but I can't and you're just one guy. Besides, the vast majority of these monsters are going to be kids and teens trapped in their Halloween costumes."

"Lady, you're asking me to take a lot on faith here."

"Buffy," Buffy-Ghost stated, firmly, before carrying on. "We need to take anyone we find to someplace defensible, like the school, but first we're gonna need to swing by my house. For one thing, there's wooden weapons. And axes. For another, anybody else who knows I'm the Slayer is going to try looking for me there."

Buffy-Ghost continued, after a sigh: "I'm really hoping to find our friend Willow, but she's probably trying to get beamed up right now."

"Willow? Wooden weapons? Why... and what's a slayer?"

"It means I could kick your butt if I was physical."

Soldier-Xander started to object, but he caught the gleam in her eye...

... Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, he fell in step behind her.

##

When Deanna was halfway to her destination, a human girl of about seven or eight in a bumblebee costume ran down the opposite side of the street, pursued by a large green humanoid.

Feeling its hunger, she moved to intercept the beast, only to have someone beat her to it.

A brown-haired man was suddenly there, standing in the beast's path. His first punch gave the girl enough time to run up some steps, into a house, and safety.

His second punch knocked the beast out, but he was jumped from behind by a giant red rooster with teeth.

The battle was fast, and odd, but he took the time during it to look over his shoulder and yell: "Hey, Deanna, got a phaser?"

"Not in these clothes!" she responded, despite herself.

She frowned and approached the young man, sensing something about...

Oh, that was it.

The man, even as he struck the final blow and sent the huge chicken sprawling to the ground, was putting out exactly the same amount of emotion as a hologram.

None.

##

He frowned as he turned to examine her, taking the time to sniff the air "You _are_ her, aren't you," he asked, surprised. "Okay... Then these guys are humans turned into their costumes. That makes _way_ more sense than what I was thinking."

She opened her mouth to reply, but he was already walking away. "Wait!" she yelled, attracting his attention. "I have no idea where I am, or what is going on, you can't just leave me here."

"Listen, lady, you're not the center of this story. From what you're wearing, you're not even going to be interesting for another couple of years."

"What are you talking about?" She sighed and shook her head. Working against emotional blanks had always felt strange to her. "And this _is _the first time I've worn this suit in a long time."

"Sorry, you're just a walking reminder of a rough spot in my life." He stopped walking and sighed. "Which isn't your fault. Look... Have you met that guy who... launched the warp drive that attracted the Vulcans to Earth?"

"No, he's dead. And this town can't be from his-"

"Has Picard met Captain Kirk?"

"I rather don't think so."

"So, you're not from after the show. Or at least, not far. What's something from that season... Uh, did... On some planet... Data run immoral experiments on Geordi?"

"Yes, but only because Lore had deactivated his... Could you stop for a second and explain how you know-"

"No, and this emotional blank you're probably getting from me? Confusing, ain't it? Final Question: Has Picard sat down at the poker table for the first time and-"

"Explained about the time/anti-time singularity? Yes."

"Really? How'd the game go?"

"I lost, which is why I'm wearing this, not that it's any of your-"

"My name's Angel," he said, sticking out his hand in a friendly gesture.

"Counselor Deanna Troi," she replied, shaking his hand firmly. "Are you a-"

* * *

"Q!" Riker furiously grabbed his bundle of clothes and walked to the far side of the room. "We forgot everything about his best trial of humanity, so he came back and created a new adventure just for us."

"No," Beverly countered, in a slightly better mood now that they had found their uniforms. "This feels more like an alien trying to communicate or to understand us by observing a controlled environment."

"There's always the off-chance that you, or I, or both of us, are holograms," he said, as the tricorder that had been poorly wrapped in the bundle clattered to the floor.

"Yes, but it's probably best that we act like we're real, because we might be."

"There is that, and..." he trailed off, having reached for his tricorder only to...

He picked it up and turned it over... He could've sworn...

"Beverly, where is your tricorder?"

"Over here in this cardboard box, with the rest of our equipment, except..."

"It's plastic?"

"...Right."

"Don't touch it, yet." He readied his tricorder and, nodding his head, recorded what happened as she picked up each item in turn.

He played back the readings and, sure enough, each object had been a replica made of materials common to the late-twentieth century. _Had_ been.

At her touch, they had changed into working twenty-fourth century devices. There had been an odd energy signature to the models, which they immediately classified as 'potential', because-

The new items, the tricorder he was scanning with, the uniforms they were wearing, also had a distinct signature separate from the world around them...

Potential realized...

##

Hushed and armed, they left the bedroom, emerging into a deserted warehouse.

A sizable bank of monitors contrasted heavily with the rest of the room.

Riker walked over and, after checking for traps and reviewing his limited knowledge of ancient equipment, turned on a monitor and grabbed the remote.

"If I was setting up an adventure simulation, this is where I'd hide the first clue," he said, then pushed 'Play'.

Sure enough, they were rewarded with a view of a vampire-slaying girl and her patrol through town.

He rewound a bit and froze on the image of a sign and the words: 'Days until Halloween - 2 '

"Okay, I take it back," he said, frowning. "This is much too subtle for-"

* * *

"Q?" Angel asked, surprised. "Am I a Q? No, I'm really more of a Watcher... Alright, I'm going this way if you want to tag along."

"Wait, I was heading-"

"Towards the school? That big spot of quiet, free of kids turned into their costumes? Nah, you don't want to go there. I'm headed to the house of a friend of mine, she's the one you want to have at your back in a time like this."

"Besides," he continued, frowning. "I'm worried about her."


	4. Discovery

BtVS by Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Star Trek:TNG by Roddenberry and Paramount. Big shout-out to Bureau 13 here, though it's reversed in a different way.

_Twisting the Hellmouth_ has a long set of Fic-For-All Prompts, in the format of "Buffyverse Character & Crossover Character". Fill one, you get to post one for others to meet. Happily filling two of them :)

* * *

According to their tricorders, the warehouse practically gleamed with blood.

They followed a particularly striking trail of droplets to a darkened corner, and a dead body in a wheelchair.

There was a huge, barred cage to the left of the body. On the ground, chalked around the prison, was a square and the word 'Inbox'.

The occupied wheelchair sat in the square marked 'Outbox'.

Beverly's readings confirmed that the body had been drained of blood and that an odd anti-coagulating agent had been at work within the tissues of the neck.

Riker grimaced, commenting how that changed his theory that the vampires on the tape were somehow metaphorical.

Beverly was about to reply when she heard a rustling sound.

It wasn't coming from the body... There, against another wall, was a small birdcage.

Riker followed her across the room as she got a better look.

The animal was fluttering weakly.

"Poor half-starved thing," she muttered as she trained her tricorder on the little bird. "It's showing definite signs of malnutrition."

"Yeah, maybe if you fed it more often, that wouldn't happen," someone answered.

They spun around and found themselves face to face with a gaunt and now, very shocked, vampire, facial ridges and all.

The twisted humanoid did a double-take.

"You're humans!" he growled menacingly. "You're, you're not supposed to be in here! I'm going to-"

A phaser blast caused him to fall to the ground heavily.

"Even though, these guys are apparently the 'enemy'," Beverly cautioned. "Let's keep our phasers on Stun, until we find out more about this place."

Riker agreed wholeheartedly.

##

Two vampires were standing guard outside, on either side of the warehouse doors. They did not budge an inch when the doors were slightly opened.

When an unconscious body was thrown out of the warehouse, skidding across the ground between them, they looked at each other.

They turned around and stuck their heads into the opening, only to be met with phaser blasts directly to their foreheads.

The two Starfleet officers stepped over the bodies and began to explore Halloween in Sunnydale.

* * *

Angel was sorry he had to lead the way. At the current point in time, he'd much rather be a single step behind, lost in his own thoughts.

_Oh well._ Eyes front, to the side, above, scanning for monsters.

Ears perked, making sure the now silent Troi was keeping up her steady pace.

He'd thrown her off-balance, and done it well.

Now if she'd keep quiet until the spell wore off... Life would be good.

He'd been in a twenty-year funk for a mistake involving death and blood and only really snapped out of it when a demon called Whistler had slapped him in the face with a purpose, less than a week before Buffy had been called.

Before that, however, there had been somebody... Something, really.

For about five years in there, his relatively homeless self had a companion in the form of a possessed TV.

The parasite had fed off him, bombarding him with sights and sounds, dulling his pain.

It had arrived during the third season of The Next Generation and, amid many other programs, caught him up with the earlier Star Trek episodes through reruns.

Shortly after the show's final episode, the parasite had reached the end of its own lifespan and... expired in a puff of flame and shattering glass.

He'd buried the empty shell in an act of catharsis, considered moving on, but regressed instead to his lonely and smelly funk.

##

Angel came back to the present, shaking his head.

She was a walking reminder of a low spot in his life.

Well, at least he now knew what an alien smelt like. Of course, he wasn't exactly in a place to tell how much of that was her half-human genetics and how much of that was just from her being born off-planet... And he was really hoping he wouldn't have the chance to compare her scent to the rest of her crew.

Her powers had a small chance of coming in handy, but he was mainly keeping her with him to protect whoever was trapped inside the costume.

If only he could somehow get her armed-

He paused, turning around, because Deanna had faltered in her steps.

He opened his mouth, to ask what was wrong, but then he heard the scream...

* * *

In the darkened bedroom, the woman's scream was abruptly cut off as her lungs filled with blood and her eyesockets exploded from the pressure building within.

She never even got to see the face of her attacker.

* * *

Deanna Troi panted out an explanation for the shock that had run though her. "Someone was just killed and the attacker, a dark patch of rage and... It's still inside the house!"

"Come on!" Angel yelled as he raced up the steps.

He hesitated at the door, but, when met with no resistance, he entered the house.

Troi followed behind, giving him directions needlessly. He could smell the blood.

He ripped a leg off a banister in passing.

They found the horribly disfigured body easily enough, the woman swelled beyond all recognition from an immense build-up of fluid.

Dark marks had been bored within her neck.

Her attacker was nowhere to be seen.

##

Deanna explained how she felt a miasma of rage stirring in an empty corridor of the bedroom.

Angel didn't believe her. She insisted.

He told her that he could smell nothing, _hear_ nothing.

She told him he was wrong.

They actually got into a shouting match.

"Listen, there's nothing here!" he finally yelled, poking the corner with the stick to demonstrate.

The heavy wood was pulled out of his hands and flung across the room. Angel didn't have time to recover before a heavy blow to the chin knocked him off his feet.

##

The battle was furious, the enemy was invisible, but Angel had a friend at his back...

The real trick was: not letting go.

When the unseen enemy had been knocked out and Angel still couldn't _smell_ it with his keen senses, he turned around and began rooting through a dresser.

"What are you doing?" Deanna asked, bewildered.

"Here," he announced, withdrawing a small hand mirror.

Sure enough, the unconscious creature had a visible reflection.

It was a horrible mass of gristle and veins. The limbs bent awkwardly. The less said, the better.

"My guess is that someone had a skinned-man or an inside-out-man costume and decided to add a pair of fangs to it..."

"Here," he announced, carefully pulling back the thing's lips.

This revealed a roughly normal set of human teeth, with the exception of the fangs coming up from the bottom jaw, and the fact that the entire set looked like it had been stuck in upside-down.

"He was turned into a 'reverse vampire' with most everything about him, sight, smell, sound, somehow... well... gone. Except for his reflection in the mirror, and his reflection on your mind... Thanks."

Deanna half-heartedly returned Angel's grin. She'd seen the thing's mouth in the mirror, but hadn't seen Angel's hand...

She kept it to herself, for the moment.

* * *

Riker was having a grand old time pointing out the obscure costumes.

There was a miniature house hobbling down a corner. It was wide. The bricks were painted nail-polish pink. Human feet sticking out underneath had been forced into a tiny pair of blood-red high-heeled shoes.

"Yes, she's a brick house," Riker chortled, humming a few bars.

He knew a wide range of music.

A cat-headed woman ran by in a saloon dress.

"Let me guess," Beverly laughed, still carrying the bird and the small cage. "Miss Kitty."

They walked on a bit more, before Riker shot out an arm and halted Beverly's path.

She frowned, but watched in silence as a robed figure crossed the street ahead of them.

"Who was that?" she asked, when the apparition had passed.

"Someone's twisted idea of Thelonious Monk," Riker growled in outrage. "Let's get out of here as soon as possible. This place just became a lot less funny."

##

Having carefully tied the creature up, Angel and Troi carried it out of the house and down the block, before dumping the heavy thing in some bushes.

They walked on.

To help fill the silence, Angel explained how they were going to the home of the Summers family. "I'm really hoping to find my friend, her name's Buffy, safe, out of costume, and trying to explain things to her mother."

* * *

Joyce Summers was having a grand old time at the masquerade ball.

The guests had arrived in their most elegant clothes and, from the large tables at the entrance, selected a mask to wear.

Almost no-one had brought their costumes from home.

Only one man had bought his costume at Ethan's.

"May I have this dance, my lady?"

Joyce spun around to take in the short, brown-haired man in the tight golden uniform.

"I have found myself alone, in this strange land, and I have chosen you, as the most beautiful one here, to ask questions of. Please, let me bask in your presence."

She smiled underneath her blue and feathered mask and reached out to take his hand. "Absolutely, Mr. Kirk."

His eyes widened slightly, but he grinned as he whisked her out onto the ballroom floor.

"Tell me," he asked, as they twirled. "Is this Earth?"

"For you, my finely costumed friend," Joyce answered, with a twinkle in her eye. "Why not?"

"Fascinating."


	5. Doorways

BtVS by Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Star Trek:TNG by Roddenberry and Paramount. DC by the parent company and their many artists/writers.

* * *

Through a dark alley stalked Edgar the vampire. He wasn't exactly hiding from the chaos in the streets as much as trying to occupy what seemed to be a safe place for easy prey to run to. When a supernaturally strong hand grabbed his neck from behind and _lifted _him off the ground, he realized he wasn't the only one to have the same idea...

"You can't do this to me," Edgar choked out. "I'm a follower of Spike the Bloody and Drusilla the Mad! They're the top dogs in this town." _For all I know, _he thought uncomfortably, _it's one of them behind me. I'm better off playing it safe._

"Yes, I know," came a man's voice. "I've seen your camera work. You need to round up all those loyal to your masters and have them be on hand."

When Edgar was unceremoniously dropped to the ground, he landed awkwardly on his hands and knees. "That's not going to be easy," he said as he stood, brushing himself off. "It'll take some persuading. Especially if Spike and Dru say any different."

"That's alright. It's for their own good," came the voice, tinged with dark humor. "I'll even come along to force some sense into each demon's head. Because, at least for tonight, the greatest power in Sunnydale..." There was the sound of cracking knuckles. "Is me."

* * *

When Buffy-Ghost and Soldier-Xander rounded a corner they found themselves face to face with two people in Starfleet uniforms.

"Well," said Riker as he eyed the young woman's clothes and the young-man's archaic weapon. "You two seem to be the sanest out of everyone we've seen tonight."

"I wouldn't go that far," Xander snarked as he waved his arm through 'Buffy.'

"Fascinating," said Beverly as she pulled out her tricorder and aimed it at the specter. "She's freefloating realized potential without a physical anchor. Or, rather, she's a mobile echo being projected like a remote-controlled hologram. He seems to be solid, with similar readings as us... And I'm sorry. This is Commander William Riker and I am Doctor Beverly Crusher."

"Right," said 'Buffy.' "I'm Slayer Buffy Summers, this is Xander Harris, although he doesn't know who he is right now. Have you guys seen Deanna Troi tonight?"

"Well," said Riker. "Good to know she's here." He hoped that at least she had arrived _in _her uniform. "Although it raises the question as to why we arrived in different places. No, this is the first I've heard."

Xander shrugged. "What she's saying and, from the fact that you guys are fictional characters I'm inclined to believe her, is that we're all victims of enchanted costumes that override memories. I'm either her friend in a soldier costume or, considering you guys look exactly like your actors, I'm someone who dressed as her friend in a soldier costume."

"Probably not the latter," Buffy said as she mimed patting him on the shoulder. "You, er, Xander, doesn't exactly have a fan club. Anyway, we're headed to my house in hope of stragglers and weapons, then on to a defensible centrally located place with research materials."

Riker exchanged a glance with Beverly. "I'm inclined to believe her," he said. "If we're in a holodeck there could easily be trap programs disguised as objects that activate on touch. I'm assuming there's a player somewhere, if we're part of the simulation, rather than this being a show for our benefit."

"So," he said, turning to Buffy. "We'd be happy to follow you around. For now, at least. What's our show called? Enterprise?"

As they started walking, Buffy explained about Star Trek.

After enough time spent eying the phasers, Xander pointed to one. "I'm an expertly trained marksman and there's apparently a teenage boy buried inside me. I'd be letting myself down if I didn't give myself the chance to use a weapon like that, especially considering that I'm only carrying lethal rounds and I don't know enough about this setting to tell the native monsters from the innocents trapped in the imports."

"Sure."

Beverly frowned. "Will!"

"He has a point. It's not like we can't temporarily disable any setting but stun."

"Well, at least, give him mine." She made the necessary modifications and handed it over.

##

A short time later, having scared off a child-size bee that grew flowers on anything it touched, the small group arrived at the Summers residence. Once Buffy had talked them through unlocking the door, Riker pushed it open.

"After you, milady," he said, gracefully stepping aside.

"Thanks." She nodded. "Really hoping to keep the walking through things to a minimum."

Having been hearing a faint sound, Xander was at the back of the group. When it resolved into a woman's screams, he shouted 'I've got this' and ran off.

Buffy shrugged and walked into the house, muttering something about horror movies and splitting the party.

Riker tried to follow, Beverly a step behind him, only to collide with each other when an invisible barrier denied them entrance.

"Well, what are you waiting for," asked Buffy as she stared into the darkened house. "Come on," she said turning around, to see Riker with his hand pressed to nothing. "I can't turn the lights on... by... myself..."

The Slayer froze, her jaw dropping in horror as she watched the Starfleet officers apparently mime as they explored the extent of the field that blocked passage through the doorway. In much the same way she'd seen vampires react to a house where they hadn't been invited...


End file.
